


Found, Not Lost.

by Calon



Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Love, Could be Athos/d'Artagnan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I'm ill and tired..., Love, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mourning, Multi, Possible Mental Health Issues, Possible Romance, Saddness, bereavement, depends on how you see it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calon/pseuds/Calon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan's lost something important to him. And keeping it locked up spirals into something far more dangerous than mere grieving...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found, Not Lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> This is a bit of a weird fic, I'll admit!  
> If you're a little confused feel free to ask any questions or leave feedback!  
> But anyway hope you enjoy my 'ear infection' addled mind as I present a slightly more depressing story.  
> Please an enjoy and be warned that there are mentions of death, although not violent, they're still difficult.  
> All my love,  
> Calon.  
> xxx

d'Artagnan gazed morosely into his tankard of blood red wine. Misery collings its way around him like chains, and guiding him away from his brothers slowly but surely.

He always felt like this on this particular day. Things always seemed more intense than usual, mere jibes or pointers expanding until they were all encompassing threats and abuse.

On this particular day, each and every year, d'Artagnan lost part of himself. Temporarily, anyway.

But tonight it, somehow, felt worse than any other day that had served him in the past.

Today was worse by far.

d'Artagnan took another deep swig of his tankard, his mouth buzzing with the foul taste of cheap wine and mind already beginning to sway.

From across the table, Athos watched his protégé closely, monitoring his odd behavior.

The Gascon jumped suddenly when Porthos elbowed him hard in the side, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head in the direction of a rather ungraceful barmaid, leering over in their direction. Aramis grinned at him too, an odd and slightly feral glow illuminating his dark eyes. While Athos simply warred with the inner turmoil to just get up and leave.

d'Artagnan feigned a smile but shook his head minutely. Porthos grunted disapprovingly and Aramis paused and examined the boy. Searching for injury perhaps?

But the boy merely turned his attention back to his third tankard of wine, listening half heartedly to the two men's jokes against the soothing early tavern chatter.

***

_"Charlie?"_

_"Charlie, you in here?"_

_d'Artagnan lifted his sleepy head from between two hay bales and yawned._

_Grinning cheekily as two deep brown eyes peeped between the stacks, shortly followed by melodious laughter._

_"You're getting good at this little brother."_

_d'Artagnan grinned delightfully, wiggling out from his position and skipping round the bales to reach his older brother._

_When he was scooped up into two arms and swung around giggling, d'Artagnan was sure that there was nothing else in the world that could make him smile so broadly._

_And returning, still sleepily sedated in his brother's arms, as the hot pink sky descended into darkness, to his parents arms, was still something d'Artagnan dreamed of doing again._

_Hell, he'd even go to the lengths of complaining that his chubby toddler legs hurt too much to continue a single pace, just to be carried home._

_But d'Artagnan knew, that some things remained just that._

_Dreams._

***

"C'mon d'Art." Porthos chuckled, nudging him yet again, a little softer this time though.. "You can have first pick tonight!"

d'Artagnan blinked heavily, watching as Porthos gestured to another group of women entering the tavern.

Placing his tankard down slowly, d'Artagnan shook his head and nodded towards the door. "I'm good, Porthos. I...I think I'm going to head home anyway."

Porthos glanced at him, shocked at their youngest rare lack of enthusiasm.

But as his brothers shared concerned glances and communicated silently, d'Artagnan found himself contemplating where exactly his home was.

Over recent months, for d'Artagnan, home had merely been anywhere where there was a bed and a meal. This meant anything from the cheap inns lining the roads on missions, to his own lodgings at the Garrison; somewhere he could stay should he not want to confront Bonacieux or Constance, or at least somewhere he could nurse a hangover in peace.

But if you'd asked him a few years ago, d'Artagnan would've had an exact reply to where his home was. But that no longer existed, did it?

The Gascon frowned minutely before rising. "I'll see you all tomorrow, then."

Athos made a move to stop him, but decided against it after he realised both Aramis and Porthos had made a beeline across the tavern and towards a handful of wenches.

This night would only end in disaster.

***

_"How long will you be gone?" d'Artagnan asked quietly, watching as his brother packed nothing more than a thin satchel._

_"Not long, Charlie. I promise." He replied, ruffling d'Artagnan's hair playfully. "But you'll he the man of the house for a while, up for the challenge?"_

_Nodding enthusiastically and swearing his oath to protect the farm and their family's honour, d'Artagnan followed his brother outside._

_"I'll be back before you know it." He continued to reassure him, as his eyes fell on the early morning sun. "Just stay out of trouble, yeah?"_

_"I'll try." He replied with a smile._

_I'll try._

***

Staggering home numbly was something d'Artagnan hadn't done in a while.

In general he wasn't really a fan of alcohol, didn't really like the taste.

He had a different opinion about the effect however. Especially on nights like this.

Choosing that his lodgings at the Garrison would be a better bet tonight, since he really wasn't in the mood for another argument with Constance or a lecture about 'the safety of Paris at night', d'Artagnan continued his faltering late night stumble towards the eerily silent Garrison gates.

***

_d'Artagnan still remembers the day those men appeared at his door._

_He still remembers that choking feeling of dread that laced its way around his chest as they asked to speak with his father._

_But what he remembers the most vividly is that sense of falling when he realized exactly why they were there._

***

d'Artagnan frowned at the empty evergreen bottles littering his table.

When had he drunk so much?

Moving a trembling hand forwards he leant for the final bottle.

How much would he have to drink?

But then there was a calloused hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, tugging his hand backwards by their chains. Denying him what he needed, yet again.

"d'Artagnan...did...drink...all...these....what's...wrong...answer...boy."

Mumbled words floated past d'Artagnan's ears uselessly as he focused on the hand clenching his wrist.

It was familiar.

Athos?

d'Artagnan's frown deepened as he suddenly felt to freezing night air bite his skin, his doublet and boots having been removed by those same hands.

Soft words continued their platitudes but d'Artagnan didn't know how to understand them.

But then again.

Was he supposed to?

***

T _he trek to the cemetery in Lupiac was a long one. Too long in d'Artagnan's opinion._

_And what made it worse this time was there was nobody to hold his hand, nobody to carry him home afterwards, and definitely nobody to tell him everything was going to be alright._

_The coffin was heavier too, he recalled._

_At his mother's funeral the sweating sickness had eaten her away partially, so there wasn't much to carry. But not his time._

_But then, nothing really mattered anyway._

_Death, life, sickness, murder, birth._

_They were all technically the same._

_In his mind at least._

_d'Artagnan tried, oh how much he tried, to block those morbid thoughts from his mind, but he was too scared that if he did, they'd soon become actions._

***

There was a body next to him and suddenly d'Artagnan was floating once again, on a bed he believed.

But that didn't matter either.

The soft words continued and d'Artagnan tried to block the out.

He gave in to sleep eventually, those very words aiding the transition from turmoil to peace immensely.

***

_d'Artagnan visited the cemetery every day thereafter._

_He stayed strong for his father, even though he rarely spoke...or did anything in fact._

_The hills around him somehow kept him whole, kept him from properly breaking down, kept him sane._

_Would it have been better if he wasn't?_

_He can still remember spending nights upon nights awake. His mind wrapped around the one question: just because he'd lost someone, does that mean they no longer existed? Like with the loss of a parent or child? Just because they're gone, did you 'used' to have them, or do you 'still' have them?_

_Because now. In that very lonesome and distant cemetery, next to his mother's old grave, was another gravestone._

_And on that cobbled grey rock, was his brother's name._

***

When d'Artagnan roused, a cold sledgehammer thumping relentlessly against his temple, and lightning bolts of pain flashing behind his eyes, he felt more together than he had for months.

Blinking blearily, he spotted Aramis slumped across the room, against his now tidy oak table and Porthos snoring in his chair at an impossible angle.

But upon shifting slightly he noticed Athos coiled around him, like an unyielding barricade, with his nose buried in his hair.

d'Artagnan smiled slightly before grunting as a wave of nausea struck him, rousing said musketeer.

"d'Artagnan?" The man questioned, squinting at the boy sleepily.

The Gascon nodded, regaining his equilibrium steadily.

"Want to talk about it?" He asked, his tone neither demanding nor accusatory, as his arms held him a little more tightly.

The Gascon gazed up helplessly into those shockingly blue eyes for a few moments before opening his mouth.

And d'Artagnan's lost voice was finally found.

***


End file.
